Friday, April 20, 2018

The Hunt for NotCoffee

Guest Blog written by my husband Alex.

“Marriage is hard. Remember that, it’ll be on a test someday.”
-Me, to someone I barely knew who got married years ago.
At the time, I was being sarcastically funny. Well, most likely only THOUGHT that I was funny, we all know the truth here, am I right? I’m right, let’s move on.
This morning as she left for the office Wifeypants asked me to pick her up a small decaf coffee after I dropped the boys off at school. Why decaf? Because caffeine isn’t her friend lately, and we didn’t have any decaf in the house. I said I’d get her one, and off she went. Little did I know what adventure I’d signed up for.
I dropped the boys off, and headed to find NotCoffee. I skipped the Dunkin’s on DWH, because it’s parking lot is a shitshow, and the employees are on par with Moria Goblins. I decided for the Cumberland farms, because its parking lot is expansive and I’d be able to pour my own coffee. Which would remove the awkward social interaction of asking for decaf in the morning.
Cumbie’s has about a dozen taps of coffee that most consider to be technically drinkable, and only one was labeled decaf. Not unexpected, it was 8:50am. Checking for landmines and poison gas jets, I flipped the tap, and nothing happened. There was no coffee to be poured. It’s one of those giant industrial coffee urns, so I knew that it would be at least 10mins before there was coffee ready in it. Plus, I’d have to ask them to brew it and we all know what happens when you inconvenience a gas station employee. Since I wasn’t wearing body armor I set out for the next place that would have coffee. Though in my head I heard Gimli saying that we could take the road through Moria to get coffee at the nearby Dunkies.
Friendly’s was next on DWH, and they have a big sign that says “Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner” so that must mean coffee is available. I mustered up my courage and went inside to ask for decaf. I waited in line as two other folks got coffee and breakfast foods without incident, my spirits were high. This was going to be easy, oh you sweet summer child.
“Hi, I’d like a small black decaf please.” I was brave, I asked for decaf and didn’t stutter or stammer. Things were going good, but then “Carol” behind the register blinked one too many times.
“Decaf?” Crap. She’s onto me, this is a trap. The exit is 15 feet behind me, two men between me and the drive through window, and my astro mech is ready to launch my lightsaber if I nod.
“Yes please.” I smiled like a human, not at all like a robot wearing a stolen meat suit, as a tumbleweed blew through the lobby.
“Uh… I’m sorry sir but we don’t have any decaf brewed right now. If you’ll wait a few mins we can get some started.” Crap, my smile betrayed that I’m a robot on a mission. She’s onto me. Double crap, her manager is aware of me now. Another employee motioned towards an empty glass carafe and nodded that decaf was just moments away. If I was going to escape, the moment had to be now.
“No, I don’t want to trouble you. My wife asked me to get her some decaf on my way into work today, I’ll just have to… OK thanks bye.” My astro mech chirped in frustration, opened a panel on its head and prepared to launch my lighsaber. I shook my head at it, glared, and headed back to the van. The goblins of Moria had decaf, I know they did. But I won’t step foot in that hellhole again. Back on the road, to the next place that serves coffee.
Apparently it’s like a mile before another gas station or another Dunkies. This is New England, how is this possible? Isn’t there a law for this? I had my astro mech, I should get around to naming it someday, or just keep wiping its memory core, plot out the local systems that have coffee. A list of systems popped up on my console.
-Lando
-Starbucks
-Nal Hutta
-Kessell
At that point, I knew I had to do it. There was no turning back, I had to wipe the memory on that smart assed astro mech. Lando’s not a system, he’s THE MAN. Punk droid giving me poodoo. I brought the van into a controlled landing at Starbucks, set my blaster to Vente and walked in. Ready to face the corporate drones of Seattle Orthodoxy. I took my place in line, and waited behind an investment banker, a retired telephone sanitizer, and what could only be the spouse of a middle manager at a company that outsources telephone sanitizers. I picked up a reusable recycled plastic pretend Starbucks cup, it served as camouflage hopefully better than my meat suit did. My time in line came, and I made my move.
“I’d like a small black decaf please.” As soon as I spoke, I realized that I’d made a critical error. I used the English word “Small” when I should have used the Starbuckian dialogue instead. The gig was up, my goose was cooked, any second now I’d be ground up and sold as pesto on wheat toast.
“Would you like me to leave room?”
“No, black please.”
“Decaf?”
“Yes decaf. My wife asked for decaf, I’ve been to three places this morning, no one had any, and I’ve been questioned about my motives enough already. So yes, decaf, and that cheese Danish please.” Money was exchanged for services, no blasters were drawn, and I left the soulless system of orthodoxy and set sail for my wife with her decaf safely stowed away in the cup holder.
So yeah, you could say, marriage is hard. I passed the test today.

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